Murder Strikes a Pose by Tracy Weber Read Free Book Online

I’ll give Jake a call. Besides, I’ve al-37
    ready spoken to the other instructors. Everyone knows to double-
    check the door before they leave. And if they forget, well, we don’t have anything here worth stealing, anyway.”
    I gave her my most confident smile. Lying didn’t count if you
    crossed your fingers, right?
    Alicia wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have enough energy to
    argue, either. So I successfully avoided spending time alone with Jake, while the door continued to squeak, stick, pop open, and
    otherwise annoy the heck out of me.
    It seemed like a good trade-off at the time.
    38
    five
    “Kate, are you in there?” Jake rattled the studio’s door handle
    the next morning as I hid, crouched among the dust bunnies un-
    der the front desk. For once, the infernal lock held. “Kate?” Alicia must have told him to stop by the studio.
    I glanced at the clock. Eleven-fifteen. Bummer. The instruc-
    tor for the lunchtime meditation class wouldn’t arrive for another thirty minutes. I’d locked myself safely inside the studio, hoping to work on the monthly newsletter. Instead, I was trapped, knees
    screaming, hunched under the desk in the world’s sloppiest Half
    Squat.
    I pinched back a sneeze and nestled up to the filing cabinet,
    determined to wait Jake out until the end of time—or at least
    until an unsuspecting yoga teacher discovered my mummified
    corpse. Jake knocked a few more times, then dropped an envelope
    through the mail slot.
    I held my breath, waiting.
    Silence. Was it safe to come out?
    “Well, hey there, gorgeous. What are you doing here?”
    39
    Jake’s voice startled me and I jumped, bumping my head
    against the drawer. Who was he harassing now? I rubbed the bump
    on my head and considered my next course of action. I wanted to
    know who Jake was stalking, but if I stood up, he’d see me for sure.
    I decided to play hide and go peek instead. I scooted to the win-
    dow, parted the leaves of the Schefflera tree, and cautiously looked outside. Jake sidled up to Jenny, a student from my nine o’clock
    prenatal class.
    “I don’t think they’re open,” he said.
    “Oh, no, they can’t be closed!” Jenny wailed. “I forgot my purse inside! I was so blissed out after class that I walked all the way home before I realized I’d driven to the studio. So then I walked back to get my car, only to realize I didn’t have my purse. I left it by the yoga mats. And my car keys are inside it!”
    Several non-yogic phrases entered my mind, but I managed
    not to say them out loud. Still using the plants as cover, I crawled out from behind the desk, snaked along the wall, and craned my
    neck to peep through the door to the yoga room. Damn. There sat
    Jenny’s purse, plain as day, on top of the yoga mats. I skulked back to my hiding place by the window and continued eavesdropping.
    Jenny wept. “How can I possibly take care of a child if I can’t even remember a purse ! I swear all of these pregnancy hormones have given me that forgetfulness disease. You know, the one old
    people get? Oh lord, what’s it called again?”
    Alzheimer’s , I silently answered.
    “Don’t worry, honey,” Jake replied, wrapping his arm around
    Jenny’s shoulders. He hugged her close and whispered in her ear.
    Jenny covered her mouth and blushed, tears suddenly abated. I
    glowered at Jake through my leafy green canopy. I knew it was cus-tomary to put your hand on a pregnant woman’s belly, but I could
    40
    have sworn I saw Jake’s hand wander to an entirely different part of Jenny’s anatomy.
    This conversation had to stop. I couldn’t just sit here and al-
    low Jake to harass Jenny. Not even if she appeared to enjoy it. Not when I had the keys to her getaway vehicle.
    I reluctantly abandoned my sanctuary and sneaked back across
    the floor. Once inside the yoga room, I stood up, dusted off my
    pants, and pounded the achiness out of my thighs. Then I grabbed
    Jenny’s purse, pasted on a fake smile, and